


you make my dreams

by plingo_kat



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Cigars, Loyalty, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 07:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11916447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: John looked up at him, curls of smoke seeping out of his mouth, his eye lazy and half-lidded. The scent of charring leather made Ocelot’s nose twitch.





	you make my dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the mgs kmeme [prompt](https://mgs-kink.dreamwidth.org/757.html?thread=373493#cmt373493): "I would love to see Big Boss marking Ocelot as his in some way. Burns, tattoos, scars, brands etc. Something of the sort. Bonus points if there is sort of a exhibitionist angle to it like BB doing it in front of his troops to show the loyalty of a true soldier or Kaz noticing the marks and getting curious."
> 
> Kind of an AU where BB was actually heading the Diamond Dogs instead of V, although I suppose since I never really talk about dates it's? Possible? This could be canon compliant???

_what i want  
you’ve got…_

Adam hissed, a disapproving little _tsssk_ as John grasped his wrist. His fingers flexed in their red gloves but he didn’t try to pull away.

“I don’t have an infinite stash of these, you know.”

John looked up at him, curls of smoke seeping out of his mouth, his eye lazy and half-lidded. The scent of charring leather made Ocelot’s nose twitch.

When John let him go Adam brought the hand to his face. Up close the burnt smell was stronger, half the sharp bite of cordite gunpowder and half pungent cigar smoke and leather. There was a circular scorched area right in the middle of his palm, red bleeding into brown and then to black; the glove would have to go. Such an obvious mark wasn’t something a man like Ocelot would tolerate.

“Take it off,” John suggested. His voice stroked over Adam’s skin like gravel.

Adam’s eyes narrowed. He knelt down and threw a leg over John’s hips where he was sprawled against the wall, not quite sitting on his heels. One spur rattled softly as it stilled. He leaned in close enough to see the faint pattern of John’s iris and breathe in the smoke that drifted out from his nostrils.

“I have a better idea.” Adam flicked his wrist and the cigar butt went flying, ignored by both men. “You can suck on something else.”

“Oh yeah?” The corner of John’s mouth twitched. Adam covered it with a red thumb, pressing the seam of leather against John’s lips.

“Yeah,” he said, drawing it out into an obnoxious drawl.

John grinned, and jerked his head to bite down--

 

_but it might be hard to handle..._

Coarse hairs pressed against his cheek and tickled the corner of his eye; sweat stuck their skin hotly together. Adam didn’t care. He rubbed his face against John’s bare thigh and listened to the crinkling rasp of the movement under his ear.

A hand came to rest heavy on Adam’s head. He stilled, breathing and watching the blackness behind his eyelids, until John began to scratch gently at his scalp.

"Three more out of the brig today," John said. He inhaled and exhaled, fingers massaging in rhythm. "You're working fast."

Adam hummed acknowledgement. It wasn't really a statement worthy of a reply; John was just talking to make noise. The sprinkle of hot ash on his shoulder made him twitch.

John noticed, of course John noticed. He tapped another sprinkle low down on Adam's spine, in the sensitive divot right above the tailbone, but this time was Adam was prepared. He felt the tremor of John's amusement.

"Hm," John said, and swept the fall of hair off Adam's neck. The fine fuzz on his nape barely had time to rise in the cool air before--

John--

John, _what did you_ \--

Sheer surprise had Adam huff out a strangled yowl, his writhing jerk foiled by the fist anchored ruthlessly in his hair. The pain in his scalp was almost as much of a shock as the burning on his neck, John's lit cigar pressed into the thin skin stretched over the cervical vertebrae. Adam dug bared fingers into the meat of John's thigh hard enough to draw blood.

"What?" John asked facetiously, sweet as arsenic. He released his grip as Adam relaxed his, until Adam could turn to look him in the face. His eyes were dilated from the long darkness, exacerbated by adrenaline: a weak halo surrounded the wild riot of John's beard and the rough crags of his face. The back of his neck throbbed.

"You look good," John hummed, and pressed his thumb into the burn until Adam's eyes watered.

He closed them.

 

_what i've got's full stock  
of thoughts and dreams that scatter..._

"The hell is that," Miller said, voice like he'd been up for three days drinking coffee by the pot. Which wasn't far off from the truth, to be honest. Both he and Ocelot were hunched over a mess of scattered maps and intel reports, multiple coffee mugs and ration bar wrappers, faintly smelly with red-rimmed eyes. Big Boss had dropped out of contact thirty-one hours ago.

"What," Ocelot said. Miller was abysmal at interpreting maps, something that didn't particularly surprise Ocelot but always disappointed him. If this was Miller misreading another D-49 symbol Ocelot might just have to stab him. Gently, of course, and somewhere nonlethal. They needed him to balance the budget.

 _"That_ ," Miller said, gesturing at Ocelot's wrist.

Ocelot would never do something as unprofessional as look in reflex, so he raised an eyebrow before casting his eyes down. Then froze, just for a moment, because his shirt cuff had ridden up enough to expose the raw edges of a healing burn.

“You’ve never seen a burn before?” He stretched his arm out in a way that actually covered more of the wound with his shirt. “You need to get out more, Miller.”

Miller’s mouth was crimped tight, not in his normal expression of disdain, but true unease.

“I know what somebody’s skin looks like when people use it to put out cigars,” he snapped. “And that looks an awful lot like—“

An awkward pause, where both of them knew the words Miller wasn’t saying.

“Like somebody used you as an ashtray,” Miller finished, slightly pathetically. “Ocelot. I don’t care what you do in your own time, but if this is going to affect your work…”

Ocelot’s eyes narrowed. Miller was going to talk to _him_ about significant-pause- _things_ affecting his work?

“It just better not be a problem, all right?” Miller continued before Ocelot could unleash a scathing retort. Ocelot paused. Avoidance of eye contact, a slightly higher pitch in his voice, aggressive tone – Miller was exhibiting all the classic signs of lying.

“…Hm,” Ocelot said, and kept his eyes on Miller’s glasses as the other man’s head moved very slightly. “Where did you put the weather report for the southern region?”

Miller’s nostrils flared, but he got back to work.

Mission accomplished, John.

 

_...and you  
put them all together_

“True loyalty isn’t blind.” Ocelot barely listened to the words coming out of his mouth; he’d given this speech dozens of times, and would give it dozens more. Instead his attention was on Big Boss, who had his foot propped up against the wall and a cigar in hand. He was just a shadow except for when he inhaled and the sullen orange tip of his smoke flared like the tail of a miniature rocket.

“Once earned, it cannot be betrayed – because both sides trust one another. The man you’re loyal to can hurt you, beat you, even kill you, without betraying that bond. But only if you’re willing to let him. And if he knows you’d let him, he never will.”

With this cue Big Boss pushed off the wall, walking over on silent footsteps to loom over Ocelot’s shoulder. He didn’t normally come to the recruitment sessions, but the man Ocelot was trying to convince was a stubborn one. He’d had to call in reinforcements.

“Do you understand?” Ocelot asked kindly.

The man in the cell stared at him with dull eyes. No matter. This was a demonstration, not a discussion or a debate. The ones who were already broken needed time to mend.

But nobody would mend without reason.

“Boss,” Ocelot said. He turned his head just enough to see Snake’s face out of the corner of his eye, half-obscured with smoke. He let his face soften, his eyes widen – he let his lips part –

And he let a grunt of pain escape as John put his cigar out on the exposed skin of his chest, low on the pectoral just above his left nipple.

The eyes of the man in the cell were no longer so dull. They opened wide, brows furrowed, poised to speak. But Ocelot didn’t let him.

“Thanks, boss,” he murmured, intimate – just loud enough for the recruit to hear.

Snake nodded, his job done. He pressed in close for a moment and Ocelot allowed that, too, allowed his enjoyment to show, before leaving the room. Ocelot ran the red material of his gloves over the burn and hissed at the sensation.

“You see?” he smiled at the recruit, relishing the man’s confusion. A hint of deeply buried longing was already starting to take root.

“True loyalty is a dream. You fight for it. Some die for it.”

He leaned in, watching the other man mirror the motion.

“But it can come true.”

_cause i ain't the way you found me_  
_and i'll never be the same  
oh yeah..._

**Author's Note:**

> ARRIVES IN THE FANDOM 3 YRS LATE W/STARBUCKS
> 
> WHAT'S UP GUYS
> 
> plingokat @ twitter


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